


that which still moves with the sun

by dryswallow



Category: Free!
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-26
Updated: 2014-08-26
Packaged: 2018-02-14 22:56:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2206164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dryswallow/pseuds/dryswallow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was a Tuesday in late October, Haru can remember that much clearly. He was fourteen years old. In one week's time, his grandmother would be dead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	that which still moves with the sun

_This is a new sort of Darwinism, I think as I watch my hands return to the pot, spoon ready. Keep that which is salvagable, that which survives in plain water, that which still moves with the sun._

Gillian Sze, “Jars of Ivy”

-

It was a Tuesday in late October, Haru can remember that much clearly. He was fourteen years old at the time.

He should have known something was wrong from the moment he walked into the house. A window in the kitchen had been left open, filling the room with cold air. A cup on the counter lay on its side with water pooling beside it.

“I'm home,” he called.

The silence continued. Haru dropped his knapsack next to the counter and set about removing his empty lunch containers. He dropped them in the sink and filled them with soap and water.

“Grandma?”

Nothing.

He couldn't find her out behind the house, and she wasn't in the shed where she kept her gardening tools. Cautiously, he made his way up the stairs to the second floor of the house.

It was rare that Haru would go into his grandmother's bedroom. He paused in the doorway, staring down at his feet instead of into the room itself.

“Grandma, are you in here?”

He could hear a rustle of sheets and a muffled cough. Peaking around the door frame, he could see a mess of blankets on top of his grandmother's bed.

She was sleeping, that was all. It wasn't like her to be asleep at this time of day, but Haru dismissed it as nothing. People seemed to get more and more tired as they got older, it was only natural. He pulled back from the doorway and retreated to his own bedroom.

An hour passed, maybe more. Haru had lost track of the time until he heard his grandmother coughing from the other room, the sound passing through the walls to scratch at his ears.

“Haru-chan!” she called.

He put down his schoolbooks and stood.

“Haru-chan, are you there?”

“I'm here!” he called, hoping she would hear him. She had been having some trouble with her ears in recent months. Haru walked down the hallway to her bedroom, pausing again at the doorway.

“Haru-chan?”

“I'm coming in,” he said, finally passing over the threshold.

Haru walked into the room with timid footsteps. His grandmother's bedroom was small but uncluttered; her shelves held an assortment of books, photographs, and figurines, all carefully arranged and without a hint of dust. There were potted plants all along the windowsill, their leaves all turned upwards as they reached toward the sun.

The air inside the bedroom was stuffy but not unpleasant. It was a familiar smell for Haru, the scent he associated with his grandmother. He never knew where exactly it came from – was it the herbs she grew in the garden? the mothballs that lined her drawers? – but it was a pleasant and reassuring smell. Here she was, he thought, just as she always had been. He had been silly to worry.

But as he approached the bed, his stomach began to ache again. His grandmother lay still, covered by a thick pile of blankets. Her skin seemed blotchy, too pale in some places and too flushed in others. And her mouth – even from a distance, he could see that her lips were dry and colourless.

“Welcome home,” she said. Her voice seemed thin and rougher than it should have been. “Have you been back long?”

“Yes. Are you sick?”

“I think I might be. It's probably nothing, just a fall cold. But, Haru-chan-”

“Do you have a fever?” he asked quickly. He brushed aside her hair so he could press the back of his hand to her forehead. She felt warm, yes, but how high of a temperature was too high? He couldn't remember.

“Haru-chan, I need you to do me a favour,” she said, speaking slowly as if he were still a child. “I'd like you to call your friend, Makoto-kun, and ask if one of his parents can come over.”

“Why?” Haru asked. “If you need something, I can help. I can make tea, or soup. Or go get medicine.”

“Please, Haru-chan.”

Haru relented.

There was a phone on his grandmother's dresser, next to an old photograph of Haru's father from when he graduated high school. His fingers knew Makoto's number off by heart, and it was only seconds before he was listening to the line ring. He stared at the photograph of his father while he waited. The photograph was taken outside Iwatobi High School, the same high school Haru himself would probably attend in another two years. His father squinted as he stared into the camera; his mouth looked crooked somehow, like he was trying to smile but it was painful for him.

Haru didn't see his father often, but even when he did, his father rarely talked about his time as a student. The boy in the photograph was an altogether unknown person.

“Hello, Tachibana residence.”

“Makoto?”

“Haru, is that you? Oh, did you forget one of your books at school? If you did, you can come over to borrow mine.”

“That's not it,” Haru said. “My grandmother...” He had to stop – his mouth was too dry. He pulled saliva from cheek to cheek, wetting his tongue and teeth. “My grandmother isn't feeling well. She wants one of your parents to come over.”

“Oh,” Makoto said. “My mom is home, so I'll ask her. Is everything okay?”

“It's fine.”

“Okay. Um, I'll go get my mom then. We should be there soon. See you, Haru-chan.”

He hung up before Haru had the chance to ask him not to add a -chan to the end of his name.

“Thank you,” his grandmother said, smiling at him. “Now, could you please go downstairs for me and put on the kettle so there's tea for them when they arrive?”

-

Makoto and his mother arrived quickly, before Haru even had time to prepare the tea. He and Makoto sat in the living room while Makoto's mother went upstairs to talk to Haru's grandmother.

“Do you know why your grandma wants to talk to my Mom?” Makoto asked. He was jittery and talkative, the way he always was when he thought something bad was happening. “My mom was kind of worried, you know, being asked to come over here without knowing why.”

Haru shrugged and sipped at his tea. It was bitter; he had been careless and let it steep too long.

At the sound of footsteps on the stairs, he and Makoto looked up. Makoto's mother was standing halfway between the first and second storey, leaning on the railing.

“Haru-chan,” she said, “your grandmother said she keeps a notebook with important phone numbers somewhere in your kitchen. Can you please show me where it is?”

Everything began to move quickly. Haru listened while Makoto's mother made phone calls, first to a doctor, then to a hospital, and finally to Haru's parents. She tried to keep her voice quiet but he could hear enough to understand what was happening. His grandmother had lied to him. She was sicker than she said, sick enough that paramedics arrived at the door soon after with a stretcher and a bag of medical supplies. They lifted his grandmother from her bed in only her nightclothes. Their movements were careful and efficient as they strapped her to the stretcher, then carried her out of the house and down the steep set of stairs to the ambulance waiting on the road below. Neighbours were peering from their windows, watching the procession with curious eyes.

Haru stood with his hands at his sides, not knowing what to do with himself.

“Haru-chan,” Makoto's mother said. “Do you want to pack an overnight bag? Your parents won't be coming home from the city until tomorrow evening, so I think it would be best if you stay with us tonight.”

-

That night he slept on a futon laid out beside Makoto's bed, as he had done many nights before. In the dark, his mind seemed to buzz. A nurse had called earlier to let him know that his grandmother would be staying the night, at the very least. Haru wouldn't be able to see her again until tomorrow evening, once school had let out. It seemed too long of a time to wait.

“How are you feeling?” Makoto asked, voice loud in the dark even when he whispered.

“Fine,” Haru answered.

“Are you really? It's okay if you're not.”

“I just want to sleep,” Haru said. He turned over so he faced away from Makoto and pulled the blankets tighter around himself.

His friendship with Makoto was often a comfort because of all the things he was never asked to explain. And he needed that now – just quiet and understanding while his mind sorted through the implications of everything caught in the net of his mind.

“Goodnight, Haru,” Makoto said, finally.

“Goodnight.”

-

After school the next day, Makoto and his mother accompanied Haru on the train ride to the hospital. Haru would have been fine to have gone on his own, and had expressed as much to Makoto, but they had insisted. Haru wasn't sure whether he was grateful for their presence or not. In some ways it was stressful to have Makoto and his mother there, watching him, offering him snacks and making cheerful conversation.

The hospital was large and white, and its insides were like a maze. After following signs and consulting a few nurses, they found his grandmother in a room on the third floor of the hospital, at the end of a long hallway.

“You go in first, Haru-chan,” Makoto said. “We can wait here for you.”

Before he could enter her room, a nurse made Haru don a flimsy hospital gown and a pair of gloves that felt like they were smothering his hands. He walked slowly over to his grandmother's bedside, aware of her eyes on him.

“Hello, Haru-chan,” she said quietly, voice scraping.

Did she look better or worse? It was hard to tell.

“I brought you books to read,” Haru said. “And a deck of cards.”

“Thank you. Can you put them on my table for me?”

He did as she asked, even though he felt foolish for bringing them at all. In her condition, books and cards would be of no use. She looked like she needed sleep more than anything, though how she was able to sleep with the constant beeping and whirring of the machines beside her bed, Haru couldn't imagine.

There was a small commotion outside, a flurry of voices. Haru looked up to see his parents standing just outside the doorway, looking in apprehensively. Both of them appeared tired, and their clothes were wrinkled from long hours sitting on the train. Haru's father moved first, walking briskly toward the bed.

“Mother-”

“I'm sorry, sir,” said one of the nurses, quickly coming in to intercept. “There's been an infection outbreak in this hospital and I'll need you to wear a gown and gloves before you get any closer to her.”

His father stared at the nurse, as if she had spoken in another language. Then he slowly stepped back, and allowed her to point him in the direction of the gloves and gowns. He looked ridiculous with one of the faded blue gowns pulled on over his suit and the white gloves on his hands, like a mental patient in a horror movie. Haru stood back, letting his father have room.

“It's getting a little crowded with all of us here now,” he heard Makoto's mother saying. “I think we'll head home.”

“Thank you so much for bringing him here,” Haru's mother told her.

“It's no problem. He's a good friend for Makoto to have around.”

Unlike most kids their age, Makoto never seemed embarrassed by the things his parents said about him. He only smiled, and waved at Haru from beyond the doorway.

“See you tomorrow,” he said.

Haru almost protested – maybe he wouldn't be at school tomorrow. Maybe he was tired, and would take the day off. He would sleep in, then come to the hospital in the afternoon to see his grandmother again. But unless things got worse than they already were, he doubted his parents would allow that. He once heard his father chastising his grandmother for coddling Haru and letting him stay home sick more than she should have.

“See you,” he said, and watched Makoto and his mother disappear from view.  
-

During the day he would go to school and pretend everything was normal. In the evening, he and his parents would take the train to the hospital and sit by his grandmother's bedside, if they were able, or else wait outside in the hallway while Haru's father spoke with doctors and nurses, so many of them – Haru didn't remember seeing the same one more than once or twice.

The hospital smelled awful and he hated it. His grandmother was in a room of her own most of the time, his parents made sure of that, but as they passed through the hallways he saw so many sick people, in beds and in wheelchairs. He hated them, and he hated that his grandmother was among them.

At first she was making progress, and it seemed like the drugs were taking effect. But on the third night, her condition began worsening again. She gasped and coughed when she tried to speak, and her skin grew even paler. It was awful.

For better or worse, this state of things did not last for long. Only a few days later, Haru was awoken by a hand shaking his shoulder.

“Haruka,” her voice said. “You need to get up, okay?”

Haru opened his eyes, squinting against the light. His mother was sitting on the edge of his bed, already dressed and fully made up.

“You're not going to school today,” she told him. “Your grandmother died. We're going to the hospital, so I need you to get ready to go as soon as possible. Your father is downstairs waiting for us.”

“Sure,” Haru muttered. It was enough of an answer to satisfy his mother; she smiled at him and left, closing the door behind her to give him his privacy.

His grandmother had died sometime during the night, alone amidst the hospital machinery. It only took five days. Although really, as Haru learned from eavesdropping on the doctors and his parents, she had been sick for much longer. She had just been clever about hiding it – her friends didn't know, and neither did Haru. Right up until the day before she was hospitalized she had been working away in the garden, ignoring her cough and the pressure building in her lungs.

By the time Haru and his parents arrived at the hospital, her room had already been cleaned out. The sheets had been changed, and the medical equipment was taken away. A small cluster of flowers and cards sent by relatives and friends was sitting on the chair by the door, ready to be thrown away.

-

Haru stood in his bedroom, staring into the mirror above his dresser. At his mother's insistence, he was trying on one of the suits he owned to make sure he had something appropriate to wear for the wake and funeral. It was stiff from months of hanging in the back of his closet, unworn and untouched.

Out of the corner of his eye, Haru caught a glimpse of something dark and tall - a shadow in the hallway. Haru glanced up to find his father standing near the doorway, looking down at him.

“Your hair is getting long,” his father said. “You should get it cut before the wake.”

He was gone before Haru had the chance to answer.

Haru turned back to the mirror, suddenly conscious of his hair. Was it too long? It hadn't mattered before.

Another shadow in the doorway – this time, it was his mother.

“How is it?” she asked. She came into his bedroom and stood behind him, peering at his body. Haru lifted his arms to give her a better look.

“It's fine.”

“I thought it would be a little short in the arms and legs, but maybe you haven't grown that much after all.” His mother leaned forward to tug at the hem circling his wrist. “Yes, I think this will be just fine. It is a little old though. Are you sure you don't want us to buy you a new one? The selection in Tottori isn't as good as it is elsewhere, but we would be able to find something nice for you.”

“I'm sure,” Haru said. “Oh. Father said I should get my hair cut.”

“Did he?” His mother turned her eyes upward to investigate. “Mm, I think he's right. We'll go tomorrow morning, how's that?”

-

Death was exhausting. Haru had been young when his grandfather died, too young to remember most of what went on, or to have been expected to participate. Now things were different. Every day brought more rituals and events, more distant family members and coworkers of his parents to make nice with as he stood around in his stiff-feeling suit. The wake, the funeral, the cremation – he was surprised his parents still had the energy to speak.

He had gotten his hair cut beforehand, as his father had requested. The hairdresser had clipped his hair much shorter than he had wanted, and Haru could feel himself becoming self-conscious because of it. He felt unlike himself, and when he looked in the mirror the difference became even more pronounced. His hands felt heavy, as though his own hands had been removed and a stranger's hands had replaced them. The fingers were long, and the palms were large. They looked like his father's hands.

He tried to ignore it, but in the end he couldn't. His hands shook as he and his parents sorted through his grandmother's ashes, passing bones from one pair of chopsticks to another. This is all that was left. Her body was gone and in its place there was a gravestone, an urn, and a beautifully arranged altar. It was done.

For dinner that night they ate reheated food that Makoto's mother had brought over, a vegetable curry. Neither of them had taken the time to change out of the clothing they had worn to the funeral. His father wore a suit, much like his own, and his mother wore an elegant black dress with a sweater draped over her shoulders. Gold jewellery glittered at her wrists and earlobes.

“Haruka, we have an important question for you,”

Haru looked up from his plate.

“I know this may feel too soon,” his mother said, “but the earlier we decide, the easier it will be. Tomorrow, your father and I are going back to the city so we can get back to our jobs. And we need to know what you want to do from here on out.”

“What do you mean?” Haru asked, picking at his food.

“Without your grandmother, it may be difficult for you to stay here on your own. You're welcome to come live in the city with us. You could transfer to one of the middle schools near your father's workplace. We'll have to find a larger apartment, of course, but I'm sure that won't be a problem.

“Or,” she said, “if you feel comfortable, you can stay here. You're responsible, and your father and I trust you. Besides, with the Tachibana family so close by, you wouldn't really be alone.”

Haru stared down at his plate. He could feel her awful, placating smile. She always did this, saying what she thought sounded good instead of saying what she meant.

And his father – his father probably hadn't even looked up from his dinner once this whole time. He wasn't actually looking at Haru at all.

“I'll stay here,” Haru said.

“Are you sure? We can give you some time, if you-”

“It's fine. I'll stay.”

It was what they wanted him to say anyway.

Haru finished his dinner quickly and asked to be excused, making an excuse of having homework to finish. His mother beamed at him as she collected his empty dishes.

“Your father and I are glad you're still taking your studies so seriously, even though this must be a stressful time for you,” she told him.

Haru stared at her. How could he answer that? There was nothing he could say. In the end he only nodded curtly before turning to make his way up the stairs.

-

His mother and father left for the city sometime the next morning. When Haru returned home, he found a note on the table from his mother explaining the monthly allowance they would be transferring to his account, and numbers to contact to in case of emergency.

And that was that.

Haru quickly developed a new routine of grocery shopping, laundry, cleaning, and of course, homework. His mother called often, but they had little to say to each other. Haru soon discovered that the quicker he offered her information about his schoolwork and grades, the quicker she was satisfied enough to end the call and the less painful silences they both had to endure.

He joined the Tachibana household for dinner once, sometimes twice a week. Makoto asked sincerely, but it was obvious that it was as much Makoto's parents' idea as it was his own. They were always cooking too much food and insisting Haru bring home anything extra. Haru always accepted it, knowing from experience that it was much more of a bother to attempt refusing their gifts.

And that was that.

In the end, most of his grandmother's plants died. Haru had forgotten about them, caught up as he was in the events of the past few weeks. By the time he remembered, most of the pots on her windowsill contained nothing but dry brown stems and shrivelled leaves. It seemed useless to try and save them, so Haru dumped them in the backyard to be absorbed back into the earth.

He moved the few plants that were still alive downstairs into the living room, where he would not be able to forget about them.

The plants out in the garden were another matter. The backyard plot was overgrown with vegetables so ripe they had begun to rot right there on the stems. It took him a whole weekend of work, but Haru saved what he could – what he knew how to save.

Makoto dropped by unannounced on the Sunday morning, coming around the side of the house to surprise Haru.

“You didn't answer the door when I knocked, but I didn't think you'd gone out anywhere,” Makoto said by way of explanation.

“Were you going to go in the back door?”

“I was going to knock first, at least.”

“That's trespassing.”

Makoto smiled, but ignored the accusation. “Do you need any help?” he asked.

Haru shrugged. “There are extra gloves in the shed.”

Things went quicker with Makoto there, another pair of hands to speed the work along. Makoto knew very little about gardening but he was eager to take instruction from Haru, pulling weeds and cutting back overgrown plants.

By the end of the day, they had boxes and baskets full of potatoes, onions, radishes, pumpkins and more, all spread out on the back porch. Haru frowned as he surveyed their harvest.

“Take some home with you,” he said. “Your family gives me food all the time, it's only fair.”

“You really don't have to do that,” Makoto said. He looked strangely uncomfortable about the offer, and even more so when Haru ignored him and began loading vegetables into one of the smaller boxes for Makoto.

“It's fine. You helped, so you deserve some.”

“Haru-”

“My grandmother always gave away food to her friends, that's why she planted so much. There's too much here for one person, so take some. If you don't, it will just go to waste.”

The words had come out before he could stop them. Haru turned away to continue filling the box, so unnerved he caught himself biting down on his own tongue to keep it silent and still.

“In that case, I will take a few home with me,” Makoto said. “But that's all. You should keep the rest for yourself.”

And that was that.

-

As days passed, the house became so quiet it was unbearable. Haru felt it the most in the evenings and on weekends while he was eating meals on his own. He had Makoto over sometimes, but that often made it worse instead of better. They soon got into the habit of hanging out at Makoto's house if they wanted to spend time together, or walking down by the beach, or the field beside their school – anywhere but Haru's house.

One Sunday morning, as Haru stared at several days worth of dirty dishes waiting from him in the sink, he became aware of a pain in his back, like a weight tugging at his spine. And then, once he was aware of it, he could feel the pain in other places too. It was in his shoulders, his arms, his legs. His joints had locked in place, stiff and screaming.

He knew what this was.

A core of condensed anger sat heavy in his stomach; he had been holding it there for months, maybe years. He hated his mother and father for being so distant from him. He hated his grandmother for dying, and for preventing him from helping her. There was nothing he could bring to mind without finding some way for it to become a target of his anger.

Haru did the only thing he could think of. He took his bike out of the shed and set off down the street, away from the empty house.

There was no particular destination he had in mind; he pedalled recklessly through the streets without thinking of where he was going. He rode past his middle school, past the high school, past the swim club he no longer attended. He rode three times over the bridge where several years ago Aki had lost her scarf and Haru had fallen into the river trying to retrieve it.

Eventually, he came to the seaside. Something inside of Haru willed him to stop, and he obeyed it without hesitation.

Haru let his bike fall to the ground and trudged towards the tide. Metres from the water, he felt his body overheating, his legs giving way. His chest was burning, overwhelmed with breath. He toppled over onto the sand, finally allowing himself to rest.

The sky above him was thick and grey. Maybe it would rain, Haru thought as he stared up at it. His grandmother's garden seemed dry but he was afraid of over-watering the plants and drowning them. It would be better if it rained. And it would feel nice, the rainwater soaking through his clothes to cool his feverish skin.

Beneath the rhythm of the tide as it rolled in and out, he could hear the wheels of his bike still spinning uselessly, going nowhere.

All of it felt so sharp, so clear. His body was a pulse. He was a system of lungs and heart, muscle and bone. And under the strain of it all, his mind emptied itself. When he closed his eyes, there was the warm darkness of his eyelids and nothing else: not his mother; not his father; not his grandmother; not Makoto and his family. Nothing.

He lay there for a while, feeling the wind skim his body. The beach seemed to move beneath him, slipping down towards the sea. Every now and again, he could feel drops of water hitting his legs from the splashing of waves.

Time passed without meaning. Eventually, minutes or maybe hours later, Haru found in himself the volition to sit instead of lying in the sand. He hugged his knees to his chest and stared out at the sea. The water was dark and violent as it moved, coughing up sea foam and debris onto the land.

Out in the distance he could see dark specks holding unnaturally steady on the rough surface of the ocean. Fishing boats, probably. Before he could stop himself, Haru's mind turned to Rin. What did Rin do, Haru wondered, after his father died? He would have cried, definitely. For how many days? And did he weep openly, bearing his reddened face for all to see, or did he save the tears for times when no one was around?

There was no point in thinking about Rin, Haru thought stubbornly. Rin was away far away, across the ocean and in another country altogether. Whether he had quit swimming like he said or had continued after all, he wasn't coming back. There was no point.

Tears burned hotly at the corners of Haru's eyes. He scowled, bringing a hand to his face to wipe them away.

It didn't matter. Lying in the sand like this wasn't going to change anything.

With tired arms, Haru pulled himself from the ground. He tried to brush the sand from his hands and hair, but he could feel it sticking on his wrists and at the back of his neck. It felt dirty and rough.

When he got home, Haru decided, he would run a bath.

**Author's Note:**

> i haven't read high speed 2 in its entirety, so i'm very aware that this could be out of line with canon in a lot of ways. but as far as i know we have no information on haru's grandmother, how she died, how he was affected by her. i wanted to explore that, so i wrote this.
> 
> i have no interest in denying that although this is fanfiction, it's a very personal piece of writing for me. please keep that in mind if you comment on this.


End file.
